For The Sake of Revenge

II~Chapter 9: The Miraculous Return

I shivered in my sleep.

What happened?

"Ouch," I whimpered, my eyes fluttering into a headache so magnanimous, I was actually seeing black spots of pain in my vision. It was the worst headache that I ever had in my life.

Just as quickly as it came, it disappeared.

My throat felt so dry, that opening my mouth felt like I was inviting all the pit vipers in the Sahara. I felt sticky and nasty. I felt half-starved and my bladder was like a hard apple in my navel.

"Yasmeen?" Ivar? What was he doing? Am I home? I couldn't be. The ground on which I was laying was ridgy and hard. It smelled like incense, wood, cow manure, and herbs. My eyes fluttered open with great difficulty. The grit in my eyes made it difficult to open them.

I froze.

The Ivar in front of me was...Ivar.

Ivar The Boneless Lothbrok.

His hair was long, his face was clean-shaven, his eyes were the fiercest blue I have ever seen. He looked like he aged ten years in a yeast barrel and emerged like fine apple cider. He changed so much; his hair was longer, darker, and there was...a grey streak running down the side of his beard, connecting with a greusome-looking, newly-aquired scar on his cheek. It was almost impressive. He looked impressive and wholesome. I tried to speak but all I could feel was my eyes boiling over with tears. Those tears streamed down my face. On his head was a crown of laurels and spearheads, made of pure gold, so magnificent that I felt my breath catch in my throat.

"Ivar?" Oof, there were the breath fumes.

"Can you sit up, my Love?" he asked me softly, in Swedish. I nodded weakly. It can't be real.

The change was so sudden.

Am I dreaming?

Am I going insane?

Which life was real?

"Here," he murmured, pressing the rim of a cup to my lips, "Drink this and clear your throat."

"She will need to recover," a different voice croaked, an aged crone's voice. "She will be as weak as a lamb."

"I will help her," Ivar grouched, his eyes taking on an irritated edge. The woman was right. I felt sluggish and it felt like the slightest effort was taxing and exhausting. As if I was not used to making the most basic movements.

I drank from the cup Ivar gave me; cool mint water washed away the sand in my throat and I felt a thousand times more refreshed. And ten thousand times more thirsty.

"More," I croaked weakly, "Pease," I added as an afterthought.

Ivar obliged, giving me more. I moved weakly to grasp his hands, to ease how quickly he was giving me the water, but I was too weak. I choked. Ivar pulled me up, hugging me tightly, fiercely.

"I wish I could hug you," I sighed weakly, the happiness in me making me feel even more riveted.

"In due course, my love,"Ivar assured me, kissing my temple. My love, that was what he called me.

I felt warm and fuzzy inside--

No--

A sharp burning, spazzing pain deep in my--oh no.

I screamed in agony.

"Shhhhhh...." Ivar said soothingly, kissing my temple, holding me tighter. I was unable to move. I was so weak, and I was in so much pain. Why was he only hugging me? What was hugging me going to do? It made me feel better that someone acted like they knew what was happening, but it was infinitely more frustrating and scarier that I didn't, and that I couldn't see them doing anything practical about it.